


two-toned

by tannoreth



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M, Mild D/s, gagging, hawke Knows What He's About and it involves telling other people what to do, this is so self indulgent it's actually painful, very mild implication of past sexual trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 14:09:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1431361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tannoreth/pseuds/tannoreth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Through the scarf, he tries to protest at the injustice of it - if anything, the elf should be the one prevented from speaking, not him - but Hawke gives him that smile that won the hearts of every noble in Hightown and presses a kiss to Ander's gagged mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	two-toned

When Hawke ties the scarf behind his head, it isn't hard enough to hurt, not that he could have said anything around the cloth in his mouth anyway. Through the scarf, he tries to protest at the injustice of it - if anything, the elf should be the one prevented from speaking, not him - but Hawke gives him that smile that won the hearts of every noble in Hightown and presses a kiss to Ander's gagged mouth.

"Perhaps he'll now he'll finally stop talking about those damned mages of his." The elf is discarding his armor slowly, stealing glances over at Anders and Hawke, clearly not quite sure of his role or maybe not convinced he was allowed to be here.

Hawke settles himself behind Anders on the bed, holding both of Anders wrists easily in one hand, pressed between Anders’ shoulder blades. “I thought without it he’d say something to drive you away for sure.”

The elf strips to his leggings, then shimmies out of those as well with a shrug. His whole body is covered in the lyrium markings – they’re shining faintly, which is disconcerting to say the least. He steps toward Anders and Hawke, moving carefully, then pauses, unsure.

“Unlace his pants,” Hawke commands, and Anders and Fenris both visibly shiver.

Fenris drops to his knees between Anders’ legs. His thin fingers undo Anders’ pants. Anders feels the lyrium in the elf's skin singing where they touch, and feels Justice, always restless these days, stretching to meet it. Anders has been trying not to pay attention to the elf, even though they both agreed to this. But despite himself, he feels heat curl in his chest and belly, and isn’t sure whether it’s the lyrium or the smooth dark skin on the elf’s chest between the markings. The magic makes him itch, but, restrained, all he can do is twist against the discomfort.

One handed, Hawke pushes Anders’ pants down past his hips. Fenris frowns, then wraps his hand tightly around Anders’ half-hard cock and _tugs_ – ow – it’s rough enough to hurt. Anders grimaces in discomfort and tries to shift himself away, but Hawke intervenes first. "Hold on, he doesn't like it that way. Let me show you."

They're talking about him as if he isn't even there, and Fenris is _clearly_ looking at Hawke with such doe-eyed longing that even through the gag Anders manages to spit out a wordless protest. Hawke is _his,_ the elf is just here as a guest.

Hawke grins at him again, willfully misunderstanding. “What, one mistake and you decide you don’t want to do this after all? Not everyone has my years of experience sleeping with finicky mages.”

Anders glowers at him, but nods and jerks his head toward Fenris. _Show him then._

Years into their relationship, Hawke knows how Anders likes to be touched, and he demonstrates for Fenris, circling his fingers on the sensitive place on Anders’ hip, scraping his nails along his inner thigh, finally, when Anders is pushing back against him, trying to get him to stop teasing, wrapping his hand around Anders and rubbing his thumb across the wet slit – Anders shuts his eyes, but opens them again when Hawke stops. The elf is staring up at the pair of them with his mouth half-open, his skin flushed.

“He likes it when people are nice to him,” Hawke says.

“I…believe both of us find it difficult to be _nice_ to each other,” says Fenris, his normally deep voice even rougher than usual.

Hawke laughs. “Yes, that’s why only one of you is allowed to talk at a time. It was hard enough getting you both to agree to be in a room together.”

Tentatively, Fenris drags his fingers along Anders’ thigh the way Hawke had done, and Anders shudders at the humming magic in the elf’s skin.

“Hmm,” says Hawke. “Use your mouth,” and Fenris looks up in alarm. A similar expression is on Anders’ face, although Hawke can’t see it.

“I’ll tell you what to do,” Hawke reassures him, and Fenris’ hands on Anders’ thighs tighten as Fenris closes his eyes briefly.

Fenris’ mouth closes over Anders’ cock. Hawke tells him how to lick, suck, when to close his hand tight around the base of Ander’s cock and when to ever so gently scrape his teeth along the flushed skin of Anders upper thigh, and Anders listens to Hawke’s commanding voice in his ear and watches the white hair dark skin pale markings of Fenris between his legs, following Hawke’s orders just as he does in battle, and is glad for the gag, because the whining noises that would surely be escaping him otherwise would be embarrassing.

Hawke pulls at Anders’ hair, making him tilt his head back, and sucks at his neck, and this is why he wears those high-collared coats and with two people on him it’s almost too much and he squirms but he can’t _say_ anything –

“Stop,” says Hawke, and Fenris immediately pulls away. Anders tries his best to protest, but all that slips out from around the gag are small wet noises. Hawke presses a kiss to the corner of Anders’ jaw.

Fenris looks up at Hawke with eyes blown so wide they were almost black. “Get up on here,” Hawke tells him, and Fenris climbs onto the bed, settling himself artistically against the headboard. At least, it looks deliberately artistic, but then the elf always seems overly aware of the space his limbs are taking up.

“I want you to use that mouth of yours,” Hawke tells Anders, untying the gag. “Can you two avoid arguing while you’re in bed, or do I have to put this on you?” he says jokingly, extending the scarf toward Fenris.

It’s lighthearted, but Fenris immediately tenses and draws away. “Don’t.”

“Ah.” Hawke has clearly stepped over some line, and he knows it. He pointedly puts the scarf down on the ground. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

His apology trails off – never very good at apologies, Hawke – but he draws Fenris in for a kiss.

Ugly jealousy curls in Anders’ stomach as he sees the way Fenris leans into it eagerly. The thought rises unbidden to his mind: _Maybe Hawke should put it on him, teach him not to talk about mages the way he does._ It’s a nasty little thought, and Anders hopes it came from Justice.

Trying to shake off the sour taste in his mouth, Anders wriggles the rest of the way out of his pants, then turns and wraps his arms around Hawke from behind.  Hawke lets go of Fenris, a loose, lazy grin on his face.

Anders would swear Fenris is _smirking_ at him, and anger flares hot and bright in his chest. Impulsively, he grabs Fenris’ chin and kisses him hard enough that’s a challenge rather than sweetness. The elf rises to meet him, biting at Anders’ lip, twisting his hand painfully into Anders’ hair.

When they break apart, they’re both breathing hard and glaring. Hawke is staring at them with an odd look on his face. “Oh, don’t let me interrupt,” he says. They both redden.

“Really, don’t mind me.” Hawke moves down the bed, leaving the two of them alone near the headboard. “Having both of you with me on jobs has started to feel like walking a tightrope. If this is what releases six years of tension between you two, by all means, please continue. And,” he adds casually, “It’s not like it’s a bad view.”

“It feels like this was your plan the whole time,” Fenris growls. Anders isn’t going to admit out loud that he agrees.

Hawke shrugs, raising an eyebrow enigmatically.

Anders turns to face the elf, who has returned to posing against the pillows. Fenris looks as guarded as always, but not upset or scared.

Anger rushes over him again. Fenris _should_ be scared of him, if the elf truly believes what he claims about mages. But then, he’s been perfectly willing to accept Anders fighting alongside him and healing him for the past six years, as much as he’s been willing to squat in that mansion and get drunk instead of going out to hunt down the mage who enslaved him. The elf is all talk and no action.

He grabs the back of Fenris’ head and pulls them together again.

It feels more like a fight than sex, as if one of them is going to win somehow. Fenris had been tentative earlier, when Hawke was telling him what to do, but now he responds in kind to every rough move Anders makes. He’s clumsy (apparently he hasn’t been spending his time pining over Hawke by falling into other people’s arms) but…enthusiastic isn’t quite the right word. Fervent, maybe. And he’s strong, despite his lean, androgynous frame – well, he’d have to be to swing around those enormous swords like he does. But he pushes Anders around easily as well, practically ignoring any resistance from Anders at being manhandled.

When Anders looks over Fenris’ shoulder, Hawke is leaning against the bed’s column, his hand wrapped around his own cock. Well, at least _someone_ was enjoying himself.

Not that this…wasn’t…enjoyable, he had to admit. Fenris has him pinned against the headboard, sucking on his neck the way Hawke had done earlier. Anders closes his eyes and scratches his nails down Fenris’ back, hard enough that it will be sure to leave marks. He thinks he can still feel the difference between bare skin and the lyrium markings, but when they’re this close, this much skin already touching, it’s hard to tell. Touching Fenris this much makes him _itch_ , and he isn’t sure whether he wants to crawl out of his skin to make it stop or press even closer to Fenris.

Since crawling out of his skin isn’t much of an option, Anders grabs Fenris’ hips and pulls them closer together. The elf drops his head against Anders’ shoulder and groans, echoed by Hawke from a few feet away. Anders rolls his hips against Fenris, who mimics the motion.

The tension coiling inside him and the humming itch of magic so close and the attention from Hawke and Fenris earlier are too much together, and the friction against his groin soon has Anders breathing in shallow gasps. Until – Maker – he digs his fingers in hard to Fenris’ hips as the tension snaps and uncoils and his head falls back against the pillows with a strained shout.

When he comes back to himself enough to notice, Hawke is at the head of the bed again, petting Anders’ hair.

“Your turn,” Hawke tell him. Anders frowns in confusion.

“I said you should use your mouth for something, didn’t I?” Hawke says with a nod toward Fenris, and Anders scowls well enough to match Fenris’ usual expression, which Hawke can’t resist informing him of.

Fine. If he has to, at least he can show Fenris that _he_ doesn’t need Hawke directing him every step of the way to undo _Fenris._ He rolls over onto his stomach between Fenris’ legs and the elf’s hand drops to rest lightly on his head. Anders flicks his eyes upward in annoyance, but takes base of the elf’s cock in one hand. He works his way up with short kisses and licks, teases the tip with his tongue, and then draws him into his mouth and _sucks._

The elf’s hand tightens in his hair, hard enough to hurt, and his hips jerk, enough to nearly choke Anders. Annoyed, he presses his arm against Fenris’ lower stomach, pinning him against the sheets, and continues.

He can feel the way Fenris’ muscles tense a moment before the elf manages to gasp, “I’m – it’s – “

Not exactly articulate, but it gets the message across, and Anders pulls away in time for Fenris to come, shuddering, onto his own stomach instead of Anders’ eye. Gratefully, Anders collapses against the pillows next to Hawke.

It’s just a few minutes of lying in comfortable sweaty silence before Fenris wipes himself clean with the sheets and rolls to his feet. Sleepily, Anders watches Fenris don his armor again.

“You don’t have to run off,” says Hawke, adding rather pointedly, “Again.”

“He doesn’t have to stay, either,” Anders mutters into the pillow.

Fenris shoots a sharp look at Anders. “Why wouldn’t I want to stay when I’m made to feel so welcome?”

Hawke sighs when Fenris grabs his sword and stalks out. He bats Anders on the arm. “Do you _always_ have to?”

Anders shrugs mulishly as Hawke hurriedly pulls on his pants again. He gives Anders a kiss on the top of his head, but then runs after Fenris. Anders gives what he knows is a childish huff, and crawls under the blankets. He _refuses_ to feel bad for any of this.


End file.
